Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 54

JOHN.

A yelpen lout.

EARLY PLA[:Y]MEaTE.

After many long years had a-run, The while I wer a-gone vrom the pleace, I come back to the vields, where the zun Ov her childhood did show me her feace.

There her father, years wolder, did stoop.

An' her brother, wer now a-grow'd stad, An' the apple tree lower did droop.

Out in the orcha'd where we had a-pla'd, There wer zome things a-seemen the seame, But Meary's a-married awa.

There wer two little childern a-zent, Wi' a message to me, oh! so fear As the mother that they did zoo ment, When in childhood she pla'd wi' me there.

Zoo they twold me that if I would come Down to Coomb, I should zee a wold friend, Vor a plameate o' mine wer at hwome, An' would sta till another week's end.

At the dear pworched door, could I dare To zee Meary a-married awa!

On the flower-not, now all a-trod Stwony hard, the green gra.s.s wer a-spread, An' the long-slighted woodbine did nod Vrom the wall, wi' a loose-hangen head.

An' the martin's clay nest wer a-hung Up below the brown oves, in the dry, An' the rooks had a-rock'd broods o' young On the elems below the Ma sky; But the bud on the bed, coulden bide, Wi' young Meary a-married awa.

There the copse-wood, a-grow'd to a height, Wer a-vell'd, an' the primrwose in blooth, Among chips on the ground a-turn'd white, Wer a-quiv'ren, all beare ov his lewth.

The green moss wer a-spread on the thatch, That I left yollow reed, an' avore The small green, there did swing a new hatch, Vor to let me walk into the door.

Oh! the rook did still rock o'er the rick, But wi' Meary a-married awa.

PICKEN O' SCROFF.

Oh! the wood wer a-vell'd in the copse, An' the moss-bedded primrwose did blow; An' vrom tall-stemmed trees' leafless tops, There did lie but slight sheades down below.

An' the sky wer a-showen, in drough By the tree-stems, the deepest o' blue, Wi' a light that did vall on an' off The dry ground, a-strew'd over wi' scroff.

There the hedge that wer leately so high, Wer a-plush'd, an' along by the zide, Where the waggon 'd a-haul'd the wood by, There did reach the deep wheelrouts, a-dried.

An' the groun' wi' the sticks wer bespread, Zome a-cut off alive, an' zome dead.

An' vor burnen, well wo'th reaken off, By the childern a-picken o' scroff.

In the tree-studded leaze, where the woak Wer a-spreaden his head out around, There the scrags that the wind had a-broke, Wer a-lyen about on the ground Or the childern, wi' little red hands, Wer a-tyen em up in their bands; Vor noo squier or farmer turn'd off Little childern a-picken o' scroff.

There wer woone bloomen child wi' a cloak On her shoulders, as green as the ground; An' another, as gray as the woak, Wi' a bwoy in a brown frock, a-brown'd.

An' woone got up, in pla, vor to tat, On a woak-limb, a-growen out straght.

But she soon wer a-tated down off, By her meates out a-picken o' scroff.

When they childern do grow to stad vo'k, An' goo out in the worold, all wide Vrom the copse, an' the zummerleaze woak, Where at last all their elders ha' died, They wull then vind it touchen to bring, To their minds, the sweet springs o' their spring, Back avore the new vo'k did turn off The poor childern a-picken o' scroff.

GOOD NIGHT.

While down the meads wound slow, Water vor green-wheel'd mills, Over the streams bright bow, Win' come vrom dark-back'd hills.

Birds on the win' shot along down steep Slopes, wi' a swift-swung zweep.

Dim wean'd the red streak'd west Lim'-weary souls "Good rest."

Up on the plough'd hill brow, Still wer the zull's wheel'd beam, Still wer the red-wheel'd plough, Free o' the strong limb'd team, Still wer the shop that the smith meade ring, Dark where the sparks did spring; Low shot the zun's last beams.

Lim'-weary souls "Good dreams."

Where I vrom dark bank-sheades Turn'd up the west hill road, Where all the green gra.s.s bleades Under the zunlight glow'd.

Startled I met, as the zunbeams play'd Light, wi' a zunsmote mad, Come vor my day's last zight, Zun-brighten'd mad "Good night."

WENT HWOME.

Upon the slope, the hedge did bound The yield wi' blossom-whited zide, An' charlock patches, yollow-dyed, Did reach along the white-soil'd ground, An' vo'k, a-comen up vrom mead, Brought gil'cup meal upon the shoe; Or went on where the road did lead, Wi' smeechy doust from heel to tooe.

As noon did smite, wi' burnen light, The road so white, to Meldonley.

An' I did tramp the zun-dried ground, By hedge-climb'd hills, a-spread wi' flow'rs, An' watershooten dells, an' tow'rs, By elem-trees a-hemm'd all round, To zee a vew wold friends, about Wold Meldon, where I still ha' zome, That bid me speed as I come out, An' now ha' bid me welcome hwome, As I did goo, while skies wer blue, Vrom view to view, to Meldonley.

An' there wer timber'd knaps, that show'd Cool sheades, vor rest, on gra.s.sy ground, An' thatch-brow'd windows, flower-bound, Where I could wish wer my abode.

I pa.s.s'd the mad avore the spring, An' shepherd by the thornen tree; An' heard the merry drever zing, But met noo kith or kin to me, Till I come down, vrom Meldon's crown To rufs o' brown, at Meldonley.

THE HOLLOW WOAK.

The woaken tree, so hollow now, To souls ov other times wer sound, An' reach'd on ev'ry zide a bough Above their heads, a-gather'd round, But zome light veet That here did meet In friendship sweet, vor rest or ja, Shall be a-miss'd another Ma.

My childern here, in plavul pride Did zit 'ithin his wooden walls, A-menten steately vo'k inside O' castle towers an' lofty halls.

But now the vloor An' mossy door That woonce they wore would be too small To teake em in, so big an' tall.

Thease year do show, wi' snow-white cloud, An' deasies in a sprinkled bed, An' green-bough birds a-whislen loud, The looks o' zummer days a-vled; An' gra.s.s do grow, An' men do mow, An' all do show the wold times' feace Wi' new things in the wold things' pleace.

CHILDERN'S CHILDERN.

Oh! if my ling'ren life should run, Drough years a-reckoned ten by ten, Below the never-tiren zun, Till beabes agean be wives an' men; An' stillest deafness should ha' bound My ears, at last, vrom ev'ry sound; Though still my eyes in that sweet light, Should have the zight o' sky an' ground: Would then my steate In time so leate, Be ja or pan, be pan or ja?

When Zunday then, a-weanen dim, As thease that now's a-clwosen still, Mid lose the zun's down-zinken rim, In light behind the vier-bound hill; An' when the bells' last peal's a-rung, An' I mid zee the wold an' young A-vlocken by, but shoulden hear, However near, a voot or tongue: Mid zuch a zight, In that soft light Be ja or pan, be pan or ja.